


kisses like knives

by flootzavut



Series: liminal spaces [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Blanket Permission, First Kiss, Friendship, M/M, Podfic Available, Spanish Translation Available, Translation Available, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension, kinda sorta, queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: "The bed is tiny, the room is tiny, that's probably why Geralt can't get back to sleep."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: liminal spaces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610095
Comments: 45
Kudos: 784





	kisses like knives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alleyesonthehindenburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleyesonthehindenburg/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Besos Afilados](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451081) by [schweinsty translations (schweinsty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweinsty/pseuds/schweinsty%20translations)



* * *

_**kisses like knives** _

* * *

  
  
The bed is tiny, the room is tiny, that's probably why Geralt can't get back to sleep. It's not because Jaskier clings to him like he's something precious and valuable and _good_.

So he paces enough to wear a hole in the boards, and he thinks long and hard about absolutely nothing, and then eventually he snags a pillow, the one thing on the bed Jaskier hasn't commandeered; Jaskier only has two arms and two hands, and he can't quite grab everything in his sleep, and it is emphatically not endearing. Geralt drops his arse down onto the pillow, leans on the bed, and starts to sharpen a knife.

It's a good way to settle his head. Slow, steady work, useful, meticulous, but monotonous enough that it's almost restful. If Geralt were the type to drift into sleep unintentionally, he'd probably wake curled around his knives and his whetstone; as it is, it's relaxing, meditative even, and for a while he doesn't have to think. It isn't sleep, but it might be better, even if that's just because it doesn't involve Jaskier's arms around his middle, warmth he doesn't, can't possibly deserve.

He works diligently, losing track of time, losing himself in the _schip_ of blade on stone, honing each edge to perfection, testing with his thumb, moving on to the next.

It's fortunate Geralt is mostly used to sharing his space now, so that when Jaskier sleepily hooks his chin over Geralt's shoulder, he gets a grunt of acknowledgement rather than a knife in his eye. Geralt wants to snap at him - something about how you don't startle a Witcher, you _idiot_ \- but firstly, that would require admitting Jaskier can maybe actually startle Geralt now and then, and secondly there's something sweet about how Jaskier invades his space, as if he belongs there, no scent of fear on him whatsoever. Geralt is never, ever going to tell Jaskier this, but someone who is comfortable pressing his cheek to Geralt's neck, lazily looping an arm over his shoulder, speaking in a low voice like a lover, soothes a hollow somewhere beneath Geralt's breastbone that he didn't even know existed until Jaskier started to squirm his way into it.

Jaskier doesn't need to know that. Geralt needs Jaskier _not_ to know that.

"Whatcha doin'?" Jaskier slurs.

"Sharpening my knives," Geralt tells him, in a softer tone than he ever uses on an awake Jaskier. So quietly that Jaskier probably feels it as much as hears it, tucked as close as he is.

"Mmmm." Jaskier isn't really awake; if he were, he'd be talking more. He gently butts Geralt with his head, like a cat seeking affection, and it's all Geralt can do to resist petting the dark messy tumble of his hair. "'M gonna get s'more sleep," he murmurs.

Geralt grunts again, and on pain of pain he won't admit his middle-of-the-night grunts are actually affectionate.

Jaskier lets out a contented sigh against Geralt's jaw, uses Geralt's shoulders to push himself up and back, and Geralt would think nothing much of it, save his own secret contentment (Jaskier has never shrunk from invading his space), except that then Jaskier puts a hand on his chin, intimate and awkward, tilts his head up, and presses a warm, slightly sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth before toppling back into the bed.

Jaskier's snoring again in moments, falling asleep again so quickly, Geralt questions if he ever woke at all, if the whole sleepy interlude wasn't just a dream of his own. But there's Jaskier's hand hanging loosely over his shoulder, where it decidedly wasn't before, and he can still feel Jaskier's lips against his skin, like a mark, like a brand, heat lingering.

It's over so fast, the entire conversation finished in less than a minute (which might be a record, for Jaskier); and yet, everything is suddenly different.

Geralt gets no more sleep that night, and his knives have never been so perfectly sharp.

_~ fin ~_

**Author's Note:**

> My muse: hey we can call it kisses like knives  
> Me: that's a bit fucking melodramatic, don't you think?  
> My muse: _gestures at these idiots_  
>  Me: ... point.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] kisses like knives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228503) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




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